Home
by southoffebruary
Summary: [MacStella] New York had never felt like to home to her, not really.


Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing. Don't sue. 

Author notes: My first attempt at writing Mac and Stella, I hope I haven't damaged them too much, cos I don't pay for therapy bills. Much thanks to Tracy for her nagging and encouragement. 

**Home**

It was funny, Stella mused to herself as she gazed out her bedroom window and watched the lights on the horizon. New York had never felt like to home to her, not really. 

It wasn't as if she didn't like the city, because she did, she loved New York. She could never actually see herself living anywhere else – it was her city. And she'd spent her whole life trying to make it feel like home, but there was just always something missing. 

She knew in part it was because she had no real family, no one place that she could call home where there were people who cared for her. That was one thing she had foolishly dreamed about as a child – a mother, father and a real home. A home with a ridiculously perfect white picket fence and a dog in the backyard. 

None of the foster homes she grew up in felt like home to her, and how could they? There was always one of the would-be parents who didn't want a child. Or the couple had such ridiculous specifications just to complete their 'all American' family. Of course, there were others that were kind and tried to make her feel like one of the family. Even so, none of them ever worked out in the end. 

As she grew older, she stopped dreaming and realized it was just her – Stella Bonasera against the world. 

So she grew up never expecting too much from other people, but always expecting too much from herself and her life. And looking back as she did every so often, she knew she'd tried to make that empty feeling disappear by over compensating on other aspects of her life. 

She had tried to fill that void with an abundance of friends. Although now, most of them had disappeared from her life, and the ones that she did see were better known to her as acquaintances. She had over achieved in high school and college. Even though her rationalization for constantly receiving A's and all her extra curricular activity was that she needed good grades to maintain her scholarships. However, she could be honest enough with herself to admit that was only a small part of it. She had pushed herself to the limits because she wanted to be the best, and she knew that the best people were always noticed, always mattered. 

In the beginning, joining the NYPD had given her some sense of belonging, which she had liked a lot. She enjoyed her job, as much as one could like her line of work. She liked the satisfaction of solving cases and helping the victims of crimes. But, at the end of the day, it was just a job and she knew a job couldn't comfort her or keep her warm at night. 

And that lead to the most disastrous aspect of her life. The part that for many years she had tried to make perfect, like she had a sense of home and completion. It was also the portion of her life that never worked out and appeared like it never would. It was also the thing that led her to staring out her window, looking back on her life. Just as she was now. 

Relationships. 

Stella stared down at the silhouetted figure stretched out in her bed and scoffed inwardly. This time it wasn't really a relationship. She didn't have a clue what label she was supposed to give it. There was a lot of need and a lot of want. There were a few affectionate words whispered into the darkness and absolutely no communication. But a relationship? Far from it. She just knew how it made her feel. And she was quickly learning in this situation that was the most confusing thing ever – feeling. 

Then again, she probably wasn't meant to have any feelings given the situation. It was just meaningless sex. They were filling some void in each other's lives. Well, at least that's what she was left to assume and what else could she think with his lack of verbalization? 

As she watched him, as she tried to make out his features in only the lights peering in her window, she realized something. Somehow, barely seeing him tonight made him feel even more unobtainable to her. 

She sighed as she turned her attention back to the nightlife outside. If he just gave her some clue, some indication of what was going on in his own mind. Then she may not have been so churned up inside with her own conflicting emotions. 

It was typical though, she did have an attraction to the strong, silent types. Perhaps over the years she had developed an unconscious need for men who kept her at arms length. Just so that she wasn't too surprised when they told her things weren't working out and it was best if they were friends. 

Mac Taylor was certainly one of those men, strong and silent. And though she knew from their pre-existing friendship that he cared about her, this was completely new territory. He was keeping his thoughts to himself and her at arms length in a way she had let other men do over the years. 

Then again, this was also completely different for her. He wasn't just some guy she met and started dating. This was Mac, her friend and her boss. The man who, over the years, she had gotten to know better than she knew herself. 

So she wasn't exactly sure why, now that something had happened between them. That something which in the darkest depths of her subconscious she had probably hoped for. Why now, she was also refusing to acknowledge exactly what was going on between them. She avoided any kind of confrontation about their situation – always feigning sleep when he left in the early hours and then acting normal at work. 

That's how it had been right from the start of this thing between them. Nothing had been awkward, at least not at work. They were professional and friendly towards each other. They got their job done as usual, side by side on cases as if neither had brought the other to a raging climax just hours before. 

It seemed to work too, sometimes a little too well for her liking. It was as if they weren't even sleeping together at all. She really didn't know if that was a good or bad thing, because the cold hard fact was, they were and they had been for three months. 

Stella wasn't exactly sure how it happened, and really, that didn't surprise her. All of her best failed relationships – or rather, the ones that hurt the most when they came crashing down around her – started unexpectedly. 

She remembered the two of them having dinner one night after a case. It wasn't a big deal, they did it regularly. She liked being able to talk to him outside of work – he was different. She liked to think during these dinners she bought him out of that brooding shell he sometimes cocooned himself in. 

However, there was something different about that particular dinner. He accompanied her home, making sure she got there safe, despite the fact that he lived in the opposite direction. And clearly despite him knowing how fiercely independent she was. When they arrived, she instantly found herself inviting him in and offering him coffee. What she didn't realize at the time was as soon as he stepped over the threshold into her apartment, her life was going to change dramatically. 

They talked more as they drank her crappy instant coffee. She really had no idea what it was about, they'd already talked for longer than they probably should have at dinner. 

Somehow, the talking and laughing together led to kissing. It was slow, seemingly chaste at first. They were testing the waters, giving the other a chance to back away – but neither did. Then, as their kisses grew more intense and his hand moved up in into her hair, she remembered thinking there was no going back even if she'd wanted to. 

Before she knew it, she was leading him into her bedroom and letting him do the most amazing things to her body. 

However, her joy was short-lived when she found a note on her pillow the next morning … 

"Had to get ready for work – Mac" 

But it seemed that gesture was going to be the equivalent of them going on a date and him actually calling the next morning. Because only two days later, on their day off, he turned up at her apartment bearing a bag of pastries and real coffee. Mac was not only ruining her for other men, but he wasn't helping her hips either. 

Everything had simply escalated from there. At first he made excuses – as lame as they tended to be – to arrive at her door. They'd make small talk, usually about work. Sometimes there were strained, awkward silences – something she wasn't used to enduring with him. 

Eventually, the awkward silences became less and his excuses for showing up became non-existent. He even stopped bringing her coffee – the Mac equivalent of flowers. It was like he'd suddenly become comfortable with what they were doing, even though they never acknowledged it. 

She could usually predict when he was going to arrive, not that he stuck to a particular number of days between visits though. However, usually on their days off or days they'd left work early, she knew that if he wasn't on her doorstep by nine pm he wouldn't be there at all. 

Lately though, his visits had become even harder to predict. He was showing up at the oddest hours, using the key she gave a few years ago in case of an emergency. 

A smile played on Stella's lips as she wondered what he'd do if she told him his need to be with her didn't actually count as a real emergency. 

She would usually know when it was him, but she was always wary just in case. She'd hear the chain slide on the front door after the soft click of it closing and then there were careful footsteps through her apartment. When she heard the familiar clink of him dropping his keys on the coffee table, she'd remove her hand from the gun she kept beside her bed. 

That wasn't to say that she felt any less tense than if a would-be burglar was in her apartment. These late night visits only screamed out one thing to her. This change in a small semblance of a routine, coming to her in the in the dead of night was his way of putting more distance between them. 

It was easier to keep this thing going between them if they came together in darkness. They weren't reminded of the friendship they were putting a strain on if they couldn't see the expressions hiding in each others eyes. She knew that if they were just hands, lips and meaningless whispers in the darkness, it made it easier for him to leave in the morning. 

She thought it would make things easier for her too, but it didn't. Each morning she woke with his scent on the cold, empty side of her bed, something inside her broke just a little more. 

Now, after three months of succumbing to his pleasure, she wanted it to be over. 

She wanted his kisses to stop making her feel loved, while his touch made her feel cheap. She wanted to stop waking up during the night wondering if that hour would be the one in which he left. 

Mostly, she wanted to stop feeling used by the one man whom she'd had a reasonably normal relationship with. It was amazing, until they'd started sleeping together their close friendship and working partnership had been the most stable thing in her life. 

They had their good and bad moments like anyone else. Sometimes their arguments at work would spill over into their personal lives – but they never lasted long. He would make her smile with a terrible joke and that would be the end of it. 

What she was afraid of most, if she had that agonising talk with him. The one where she asked him what the hell they were doing and told him it had to stop because it was never going to work. She was scared that would be the end of anything between them. They'd argue and it wouldn't be able to be fixed with a joke and a smile. 

Even so, she knew she was going to have to be brave and start that conversation with him – they couldn't keep going on the way they were. She had even tried a couple of times, but she was always stopped. His lips always provided a better argument that her brain ever could. 

So she had been letting it fester for about two weeks now, and her worry over it was growing. She knew being scared was a stupid, emotional reaction and that she was supposed to be the one unafraid of speaking her mind, unafraid of confrontation. But there was more to it than losing what they had. She was afraid of losing that feeling she'd discovered. Over the years, through the talks, laughs and being there for each other though anything, she'd found something. 

Before everything between them started escalating out of her control, she'd found that one thing she'd been seeking her whole life. In Mac Taylor, her friend, colleague and verbal sparring partner, she'd found that feeling of belonging, of home. 


End file.
